Skull and Crossbones
by ChangingTheCircumstances
Summary: As SHIELD and HYDRA scramble after the collapse, one agent decides what is more important to him and it the results change his life more than had initially expected. Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
1. Beginning

**AN: This fanfic will center on Jack Rollins and Brock Rumlow. Warnings for language, violence, and maybe gore (not sure yet).**

* * *

Jack Rollins might as well have been no one. Yeah, he had worked beside Captain America, been part of the STRIKE team, but he'd been low on both HYDRA's and SHEILD's radar. He'd been captured during the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA but escape had been quick and easy.

Almost all of the scientists, from both sides, were taken up by private corporations leaving few to be caught and interrogated by the government. Engineers and tactical officers were of interest as well. The high level officers, ones close to Pierce, were either captured or being tracked by the government as well.

But the soldiers…they were expendable.

Some soldiers remained loyal until the end, others could be bought or sold, and maybe that was why so many were going into hiding or were dying off like flies.

Jack's first thought after getting free wasn't for himself though, but it also wasn't for HYDRA. First and foremost he thought of Brock Rumlow and where the hell he'd gone.

He'd known Brock for a longtime. Twelve years his senior, Brock had been the one to teach him and train him. Though not officially stated in any records, they might as well have been partners for all the times they'd had each others' backs. This time wasn't any different.

For a week, Jack searched, the possibility of Brock being dead only growing.

It wasn't that Jack didn't think Brock could handle himself. It was that Brock was brilliant, not just in hand-to-hand combat and weapons but in an overall knowledge of everything as well, and, yet despite this, he had the world's worst temper. In such times, he would make irrational decisions, put himself and others at risk. He also talked too much.

Combining all of those things together, it seemed likely that either another government organization had him killed, or Brock had gotten himself killed from a bad call.

Another option, one that made just as much sense, didn't come to Jack until he finally found out where Brock was, in a hospital.

The FBI had him in custody. Being injured would explain how Brock had been captured so Jack decided to go check it out. Once again, he was low enough on the food chain that a hat and a dirty jacket would do for a cover. He doubted anyone had taken time to memorize his face though.

The hospital was outside of DC in Arlington, Virginia. It was a normal hospital, made for anyone who needed treatment. Taking a quick look at the information at the front desk while the attending woman was away, Jack found the room number and headed on up.

He wondered if Brock was strapped down or sedated. The man certainly wouldn't have stayed in a hospital bed if he'd simply been handcuffed. However, Jack found out that his assumptions were wrong once more upon arrival to the room.

Two FBI agents stood guard and both gave Jack a suspicious look when he stopped to stare.

Brock had burns and scars over all visual parts of his body along with a cast over his right hand. The wounds were healing and many would probably go away in time, but a select few would most likely leave their ugly marks. A heart monitor kept track of his heart, its beat slower than normal.

He was in a coma, though whether it was medically induced or not, Jack didn't know.

"Something you need?"

The voice brought Jack out of his thoughts and back into reality. "No. He some sort of criminal?" He made his voice gruffer, like he had a sore throat, and slackened his stance, making it seem almost lazy. Hunching over a bit, he made himself seem smaller as well. Being six foot two tended to make some people nervous.

"None of your business pal. Now move along."

Jack gave the room a quick once over. He noticed the lack of windows. "Looks pretty ruffed up but I don't see any restraints. Not afraid he might walk away?" asked Jack, pushing just a little bit more, trying for any more information.

"The man's in a coma and paralyzed from the waist down. I think we got it handled."

Immediately, there were questions Jack wanted to ask but it was clear from the tensing of the agents' muscles that they felt they'd been patient enough. It would do no good if he made a scene so he simply muttered, "Sucks to be him," and moved on.

But the moment he was out of sight he was wired again and any former plans had now been thrown out the window. Jack didn't know Brock's chance of survival but either way, how the hell was he going to get the man out of there if he couldn't walk _and_ wasn't awake?

And what was about the lack of windows?

Before going back down, Jack asked a nurse, "Excuse me, was there a shooting here recently?"

"You must be asking about that man they have in custody," the man said, his friendly smile suddenly dropping. "There wasn't a shooting here but there was in DC. That's why he had to be moved I hear. Don't know why he had to come to this place though. The less trouble the better. I say—"

"Thank you. That's all I needed to know," Jack interrupted, pushing past. He'd never been able to charm his way out of things, not like Brock.

Now he had another problem, trying to figure out who wanted Brock dead. It couldn't be the FBI or else there wouldn't have been a near public execution. Any other US agency seemed unlikely and Brock wasn't big enough news for another country to want him dead. That left the remnants of HYDRA and SHIELD and as much as Jack would like to disregard HYDRA, there was no evidence to do so.

Despite his predicament, Jack still couldn't bring himself to leave Brock so he decided to wait. Even if Brock didn't wake up from his coma, Jack couldn't risk moving him until he'd healed more. There was the threat of another assassin coming in of course but the lack of a window and fact that Jack scoped out the hospital daily made him less worried on that matter.

However, there was another assassin planned to take out Brock.

Jack found that out on the fifth day. He didn't know how, but some way they had known where he was. A pay phone rang, just as he passed it, and Jack picked it up, unsure if it was just an accident of if the call meant something.

"Agent Rollins, you're mission is to assassinate Brock Rumlow. Upon completion, further instructions will be given."

Click.

So it was HYDRA after all.

Jack felt a sudden sense of betrayal at the agency. He'd never trusted governments of any kind, all of it political bullshit, but he had put faith in HYDRA. _Brock_ even more so and now they were tying up loose ends. Brock was no longer an asset to them. Jack was positive they could have just as easily asked him to get Brock out of the hospital which meant they probably knew of his paralysis. He was a weakness that had to be taken care of.

It appeared that Jack wouldn't be able to wait for Brock to heal. It did take him two days to make sure everything was in place though.

A fire alarm was the simplest way.

Fake nurses outfit. Check.

Stolen van around back. Check.

Loaded gun. Check.

Jack went in, helping the two FBI agents to get Brock out of the hospital. The hospital bed and IV drip meant that it took longer to get out than the people on foot. The fact that FBI agents were around also meant that most people wanted to stay as far away as possible. No other nurse or doctor came to help, Jack doing fine on his own, and when the agents spoke up about him going the wrong way he finally took out his gun.

Two dead FBI agents. Check.

Jack wheeled Brock to where the trash bins were kept. No one was there, all work forces being used to help clear the hospital now. The hospital bed would have to go but Jack did take the IV drip into the van, not knowing how long Brock could go without it. He lastly grabbed the clipboard with all Brock's medical information on it.

It was so easy Jack almost felt like laughing if it wasn't for the fact that HYDRA could be on his tail at any minute.

They had been watching Brock. They had probably started watching Jack the moment he'd gone into that hospital. Staying in America no long felt like an option.

Getting out by plane with a paraplegic comatose patient seemed completely impossible, especially when taking into account that Jack wanted to go over the ocean. A boat was a bit more realistic.

Jack drove from Arlington to Baltimore, Maryland, the trip taking just a little less than an hour. Before trying to find a boat, Jack went over the medical information.

The coma wasn't medically induced and the IV drip was for sending nutrients to the body. The SCI (spinal cord injury) was incomplete but that didn't mean much until-_if_-Brock woke up. Not much else was given that could be of use so Jack left it when leaving the van and the IV drip.

As much as he hated doing it, Jack found a crate first, large enough for a grown man, and then put Brock in it. He hoped to god that the man didn't decide to wake from his coma anytime soon because he'd probably kill him if he did.

Using money he stole from the man he'd killed to get the van, Jack got a trip to New York, his crate getting put on the ship as well. The trip took about a day and then they were in New York City. Jack was thankful upon getting his luggage back that Brock hadn't awoken yet.

Once again, stealing the money needed, Jack bought a room for a trip to England. The trip would be much longer, nearly a week, so after most of the people were asleep, Jack went to the cargo area and took Brock out taking him to his room in case the man woke up. Despite being all muscle, the nearly four inch difference in height and hospitalization made him fairly easy to carry.

Jack found himself sleeping little, worried over when Brock would awake. As the hours passed and dawn approached, Jack thought he saw him twitch at least once, react to the movement of the ship, but it was probably just sleep deprivation that caused it.

The next few days, Jack found himself looking over Brock's wounds. Only three still needed the stitches and to be regularly cleaned. Some of the burns needed taking care of but beside that, Brock's body was mending itself back together. Jack couldn't do anything for the broken ribs and the cast on Brock's arm still need to stay on. It was honestly a miracle more hadn't been broken.

The day before arrival, Jack was forced to put Brock back in the cargo area and upon docking; the man still hadn't woken up.

Now it was time for the next step.

Staying still in any one place for long could be dangerous but even more so in places that SHIELD and HYDRA had frequented in, namely most of North America and Europe. It appeared that a third world country was what Jack needed if he had any hope of keeping him and Brock alive.

After stealing another car, it took nearly three days to drive to Turkey where he finally rested, Brock still not having awoken. A day of rest and then almost five more days until they reached Ethiopia where Jack finally stopped. He didn't think for a second that they were safe. If HYDRA really wanted them dead, they would be eventually, but with all the chaos such an occurrence would take time, time which HYDRA did not have.

On the outskirts of Dessie, Amhara, Jack finally found an apartment to rent. Paying for it with stolen money and labor, four more days passed.

Twenty-nine days, nearly a month since Jack had first arrived at that hospital was when Brock opened his eyes for the first time. Jack had been hoping for just one day of peace, even an hour would've been nice, but not even minutes passed before something was thrown.

Even in his weakened state and his dominant hand in a cast, Brock somehow succeeded in shattering the lamp that had sat beside his bed by throwing it against the opposite wall.

Jack sighed; just grateful his head hadn't been the target. "That was our only form of light at night."

"What the hell should I care?! Get out! Just get the fuck out!"

Jack shouldn't have expected much of anything else. Nevertheless, he left the room and was just thankful he had more self control than Brock. He was already tempted to shoot the man.

* * *

The last thing Brock remembered was the Helicarrier crashing into SHIELD headquarters. Maybe a few moments in between then and now but more than likely the vague memories had just been made up by his addled brain.

He'd been shocked at seeing Jack Rollins of all people, honestly expecting to be dead himself. Nevertheless, a familiar face was no longer welcomed when he realized what condition he was in. Jack had tried talking to him but instead, Brock had just blown up in the man's face.

Already he felt guilty after the room was empty but at the same time he wished there was something else to throw. Whatever Jack had wanted to tell him he hadn't needed words to know that something was wrong with his legs. He couldn't move them what so ever though he could feel a few parts of his upper thigh.

He felt like utter shit though that wasn't surprising.

The other injuries would heal though it was the legs that bothered him. He was a field agent. He fought, killed and brought down men and women if necessary. How could he do any of that now? What would HYDRA do with him and—

Why the hell wasn't he in a hospital?

Brock really began to regret throwing Jack out now but didn't call out in the chance that the man actually heard him due to pride. Instead, he assessed the room as best he could.

Jack had been right about the lamp being the only source of light. There was a fan currently on in the ceiling but no light bulb connected with it. The room was an entire apartment, a makeshift table and two chairs not far from the bed along with a kitchen. There was a refrigerator but it looked ancient.

At first, Brock thought Jack had gotten a different room for himself but he soon spotted the pile of blankets beside the bed where the man must have been sleeping, the bed itself not being very big. A backpack was sitting in the corner but it was the only form of luggage that Brock could see.

There was a small bathroom to his left without a door, the mirror cracked. He really hoped there was a shower in there.

There was only one window with no glass and Brock could feel the heat rolling in. It was a good thing he hadn't thrown the lamp at the fan. From the trees outside and the content of the room, Africa seemed like a pretty good choice. The Middle East didn't quite fit.

He looked back at his body, trying to concentrate on the any other damage and wishing there was some way to get to the mirror in the bathroom. However, he kept going back to his legs. God he was worthless. So fucking worthless.

For a while, all he could do was wait and worry about food and needing to go to the bathroom when he finally realized he had a catheter in. Such a thing was for the disabled the weak.

But then he remembered he _was_ disabled and any calm he'd developed had disappeared.

"Fuck! _Fuck_!"

"Are you planning to throw anything else at my head?" The voice was muffled but Brock could tell it was Jack.

"Nothing else to throw except a blanket and a pillow," growled Brock.

The door opened and Brock watched him come in much like a cautious cat. "Hungry?" asked Jack.

"Yeah."

"Here," Jack threw a small bag with what looked like pretzels in it.

"What the hell is this?"

"Dabo kolo."

"_What_?"

"The landlord gave it to me after working his fields. We're in Ethiopia which you _would_ know if you'd listened to me in the first place."

Brock ate the food; he'd certainly had worse. "Why Ethiopia?"

"No particular reason," Jack replied, sitting in one of the two chairs by the table. "It's simply far away and HYDRA doesn't have a base anywhere near here."

"Why would we be running from HYDRA? How did I even get here? What—"

"Brock, I swear you say one more question word and I'll shoot you! Just shut up and listen," Jack spat out.

Brock glared at him but kept quit as Jack talked. The story he threaded through the air did nothing to improve his mood. Once done, it took all his concentration not to just explode. "We're dead then. Everything I've _worked_ for, everything I've _done_, it doesn't even _matter_ anymore."

"I suppose it doesn't," Jack agreed. "But HYDRA's not going to come after us, not anytime soon. They're almost certainly still reeling from the attack, same as SHIELD."

"I don't care if that gives us a few extra days to live. I don't care if it gives us a year! My life is worthless now! You should have shot me! At least you would've gained something then!"

"I gained more by doing this."

"Which _was_…?"

"Saving you."

Brock sucked in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get out! Just…get out."

"Fine, I understand, you need some time alone. But just know that I am coming back before it gets dark because I sure as hell won't be sleeping in the hallway," Jack replied as he got up and left.

Watching him go, guilt and confusion crashed into Brock. Why the hell would Jack feel like saving him? If their positions had been reversed, Brock was almost positive that he would have taken the offer. But then again, Jack had experienced a different past before he got to HYDRA.

For Brock, HYDRA had been his only family. Anything before that, well, he just didn't think about it.

But he had nothing now. Nothing except Jack Rollins and this fucking room. He wouldn't-_couldn't_- stay here for the rest of his life. Maybe if he wasn't paralyzed he would have been thankful for having his life, but that meant little to him now.

Sighing, Brock moved himself from the bed and onto the floor. The entire experience was a painful reminder of his weakness. It only made this entire idea so much easier. The act of dragging himself across the floor took longer than he thought it would, every few inches having to stop and rest.

Finally, he made it to the backpack. He rummaged through it and then finally found what he was looking for. It was at the bottom of the bag and in perfect condition as well. He checked, full.

The key to his freedom, and Jack's freedom really, now lay in the palm of his hand.

He placed the barrel of the gun into his mouth. The shape was familiar and Brock closed his eyes, imagining the bullet ripping through the back of his skull. A sweet release, one that would allow him to escape his disabilities and free Jack from whatever the reason he was helping him.

Brock pulled the gun out and placed it back in his lap.

The gun found its way back to his mouth then to his lap again. The cycle repeated several times before Brock finally stopped.

He couldn't do it. Dying for a cause, a purpose, made death worth wild. This was cowardly though and Brock was already ashamed that he'd even thought of the idea. Maybe freedom would be harder to grasp now but as far as he was concerned, he wouldn't have any say in the afterlife no matter what was there.

Just then, the sound of the door opening wove into Brock's ears.


	2. Movement

Jack first saw the empty bed but before he had time to panic, he looked about the room and saw Brock sitting in the corner. He noticed the wetness on the barrel of the gun in his lap but it hadn't been fired. He would have heard that. Brock looked defeated but also pissed off so Jack stayed where he was, slowly closing the door.

"Are you really going to do it?"

"I was."

"And now?"

"I can't," murmured Brock. "Even in this condition life seems more interesting than death."

"Well, you never struck me as religious. And you're not a coward so I suppose seeing you blow your brains out would've been a bit surprising," Jack commented as if it was the most normal conversation in the world. Seeing the gun still kept his heart constricting. "We have running water. You thirsty?"

"Am I going to die from some horrible bacteria if I do?" asked Brock with a sigh.

"Locals seem fine enough," responded Jack as he took out a glass and filled it from the sink. As he walked over, he asked, "Are you religious?"

"Why are you asking?"

"I'd like to think of you as a friend," Jack admitted. "We've known each other for years, more than a decade now. We've fought side by side, risked our lives together, but I honestly don't know much about you. Well, except that you have a sweet tooth."

"I do not have a sweet tooth," Brock growled.

"Yeah, say that to the honey bun wrappers I always found at the bottom of your locker when it was my turn to clean. What's so wrong about having a sweet tooth anyways? I think it's kind of funny," Jack said, sitting beside Brock and handing him the glass and taking the gun.

Brock didn't answer, simply taking the glass and swallowing, the water, a welcome feeling. "I'm not religious though. My mom was…_really_ religious. My dad I have no idea," he finally answered. "Yourself?"

"Not particularly. I suppose I believe in there being something. Just never put much thought into it." Jack looked to the sky and asked, "Are you planning on sleeping on the floor or would you prefer the bed." The glare was response enough so Jack let out a sigh and said, "Fine, just honestly curious. Come on let me—"

"I can do it myself!"

"Right, and when you get a splinter from dragging yourself across the floor don't ask me for help getting it out now come on," Jack said, reaching under Brock and pulling him up.

If it hadn't meant a painful fall, Brock would've struggled but instead, he let Jack drag him back to the bed, his feet hanging limply below him.

"You want me to tuck you in too?"

"I'm not a damn child," Brock grunted, resisting the urge to yell again.

"It was a joke."

"Oh."

"You know, you use to be able to at least take a joke."

"Also could kick your ass but now look at me."

"Oh I don't know," Jack responded, going back for the glass and putting it up, "you could still probably get me on the ground within a minute."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Sure, but not today. You should rest at least a little bit before trying to wrestle me to the ground." Jack walked back over and sat on the hard wood floor, pulling the blanket over him.

"That looks bloody uncomfortable."

"Since when did you care about my sleeping habits? And when did you become British?"

"Fucking, okay? It looks fucking uncomfortable; does that make you feel better? I didn't know you liked a crude mouth," muttered Brock.

"Funny. But really, I'm fine right here. You know we've both slept in worse places."

"We have, haven't we? So what's the plan? Staying here, taking care of little old me, working the fields? Sounds pretty boring."

"I was waiting for you to wake up before making any concrete decisions. But you are little and old."

"I am average height! It's not my fault you're a giant," Brock replied, pulling himself over so he could look at Rollins and trying not to get majorly pissed. "And fifty-one is not old."

"You said it, not me," Jack replied as he turned over but not before Brock could see the smirk.

Brock huffed in response and pushed himself down, staring up at the ceiling. He'd slept for weeks and now all he wanted to do was be active. Run around, do his usual workout, have a sparring match, make sure his aim hadn't gone off with a gun. He couldn't do any of that now and being a fugitive and a traitor didn't really leave much in the field of choices.

He tried to think of a way to get his legs back. That was the key. Any way of getting them back though could be risky, not being able to trust anyone now. Then something came to mind.

"AIM."

Jack remained silent so long that Brock thought he might be asleep but he finally replied, "Is that it? Just aim? Aim for what?"

"No, AIM as in Advanced Idea Mechanics," responded Brock.

"That was created by Aldrich Killian right?"

"Yeah, in the late nineties or something. They supplied HYDRA with some weapons for a while but after Killian died they went underground."

"Yeah, who was it that took over after him?" asked Jack.

"Some…thing named MODOK, at least for part of AIM."

"Oh yeah, they wear yellow and the other ones wear blue right?"

"Yeah."

"Well that's great to know but why the hell are we talking about it," grumbled Jack, rolling over to look at Brock.

"If anyone would know how to fix my legs it would be AIM. Not with MODOK though. I hear he still affiliates himself with parts of HYDRA. The others, they could help."

"Are your legs really the most important thing right now? I mean, you're still healing and—"

"None of that's important. I can't live my life like this, at least not without trying," Brock argued. "Will you help me?"

"You already know the answer."

"No, I actually don't. I still don't understand why you would risk your life to save me."

"If you're still stuck on that then I guess you're really blind."

"I'm paralyzed, not blind now tell me what the hell you're on about."

"It'll just freak you out."

"Don't be an ass and tell me what the hell you mean!"

Jack hadn't expected it so it was pretty shocking when Brock pulled himself off the bed to land on top of him. They struggled for a while, grappling back and forth but eventually, despite the cast, Brock was able to get both arms around Jack's neck. He wasn't choking him but he could just as easily do that or snap his neck if he wanted to.

"Tell me!"

"No."

Brock waited his grip tightening as he expected a struggle. However, a very unexpected event happened. Jack let out a sigh and relaxed his body, not pushing at all.

For a moment, Brock was to shocked to do anything until finally, he just let go, allowing his back to fall against the bed. "Why won't you tell me?" he asked softly.

Jack opened one eye. "I already told you, it would freak you out." He sat up and turned to Brock. "Besides, you couldn't kill me. Who would carry you out of here?"

Brock groaned, knowing that it was true and made any threat now null. Still, just the utter ease and lack of resistance had shocked him and, in truth, disturbed him a bit. He'd never had anyone ever except their fate so readily. There was always a fight, a struggle; it was what made the job fun. But this…

"Please?"

"Did you really just say please?" Jack asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes and I won't say it again. _Tell_ me."

"No."

"I don't remember you ever being this difficult," growled out Brock. "Even when I was training you, you were the only trainee that never argued back."

"Well, I've grown up since then," Jack said with a smirk, remembering that time. He'd been nineteen, the first time he'd met him. Brock had been thirty-one. "Besides, you never tried to pull anything out of me that I felt you shouldn't know."

"And you think I shouldn't know this secret? Because it would freak me out? Come on! I'm not a child either."

"Maybe not but you won't get it out of me. Sorry."

"You're an ass, you know that?"

Jack shrugged. "Yeah, but you're not much better either."

Brock just groaned and then twisted his body around, grabbing hold of the bed and pulling himself up. Jack didn't move, simply watching as Brock pulled himself onto the bed with an oof and then pulled his legs over as he rolled onto his back. "Thanks for the help," Brock said sarcastically.

"If you have trouble next time, simply ask me and I will help," Jack responded, knowing that Brock would probably never do such a thing due to pride. "Go to bed. You're cranky when you don't get any sleep."

"Am not," Brock shot back and then rolled over so that he wasn't facing Jack.

Dragging himself across the floor and tackling Jack had taken a serious toll on Brock. He had to remember it had been more than a month since he'd been awake. Eventually he fell asleep, thoughts of AIM and the possibility of walking again filling his head.

* * *

When Brock woke up, he noticed how the room was empty. For a second, he feared Jack had left him but then quickly threw that idea way. If he hadn't left the night before then he certainly wouldn't have tried to leave in the morning.

Brock knew he should wait but he needed to see his face, see how damaged he really was. He'd felt the scars but he needed to see them.

It took so long that it was surprising Jack didn't walk in at some random point but Brock was able to drag himself and a chair over to where the bathroom was and then pull himself up onto it. He was sweating by the time he was finished but he'd done it nonetheless and there was some pride to be found in that.

Only using his arms, he pushed himself up on the edge of the sink and finally looked at himself.

His hair was an utter mess, sticking up in weird places and cut pretty badly, courtesy of Rollins. He'd grown a beard as well which was kind of shocking; he'd honestly not noticed it before hand. Looking into his own eyes, he looked like hell. It was the scars that attracted Brock's biggest attention though.

A burn covered part of his left cheek and crawled down his neck. His nose (though now healed) held a scar right over the bridge. A scar was on his chin, below his left eye, and a rather long one ran along the right side of his face, next to his eye, and along the forehead. The small ones would fade in time but the burn and scar that stretched across his face wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon.

Finally, arms aching, he eased back into the chair, letting out a tired sigh. He waited, seeing if Jack would be there arrive soon but when the man didn't show up, Brock pushed himself back onto the floor and dragged himself back to the bed, leaving the chair where it was. He was just pulling himself back under the blanket when the door finally opened.

"Where'd you crawl to this time?" asked Jack dropping a bundle of fabrics onto the table.

"You make it sound like I'm a babe that crawled out of its crib."

"Well it wasn't my intention," muttered Jack with a sigh. "Here." He threw some of the fabrics at Brock who saw that they were cloths. "Figured you'd like to put on something different."

The pants and shirt were a light brown color with few decorations on them except at the hems. The shirt had short sleeves and both were made of a light fabric. Brock almost asked about shoes and then remembered he wouldn't really need any. Such a thought was pretty odd.

The shirt went on easily but the pants were another matter. After struggling with them for a while he finally grumbled, "Could you help me out here?"

Jack, who'd been watching the entire thing, raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you. Did you just ask for help?"

"Shut up and get your ass up."

"Not until I hear you say that one more time."

"Can you…help me?" Brock asked. He almost added a please in there but didn't want to give Jack the satisfaction.

"See, not that hard," responded Jack as he walked over. "I'll hold you up and you pull them up."

It certainly went more smoothly than rocking back and forth. Still, it was embarrassing and Brock was thankful when he was put back down. "What are we doing then? What's the plan?"

"You still want to go after AIM, right?"

"Yes."

"Then you're doing nothing and I'm going to see if I can get any information," said Jack. He walked over to the cabinets and started pulling food out and placing it on the floor next to the bed along with three glasses of water. "This should tide you over until I get back."

"Exactly how long do you think you'll be gone?" asked Brock. He kept the panic out of his voice but that didn't mean it wasn't there. It was like being in the middle of a battlefield without any weapons, zero armor, and no water. He felt weak and open.

"No idea. I suppose it depends on when I find them. I'll leave a bucket by your bed to so you can empty the catheter," Jack added.

Brock sighed, almost having forgotten about that. "Just don't be long."

"I'll try my best."

Jack left, came back with the bucket, and then was gone. Immediately boredom set in. There were no books to read, no TV or even a radio. He couldn't work out and there wasn't any busywork to do so finally he just lied down with his thoughts. Memories and ideas floated by, every once in a while he grabbed something to eat, drank some of the water.

It was past mid day when he passed out from exhaustion. The night before he hadn't dreamed, probably from being too tired. Now he did and his mind replayed when the Helicarrier crashed into the building over and over again.

Brock would fall, feel everything crashing in on him, and then the floor beneath would give way and he was in the hall again, everything fine. Then the Helicarrier would crash in again and he was running before he fell once more, a continuous loop. He could feel it all, every crack, every scrape or burn, again and again.

When he finally did wake up it was with his chest heaving and lungs constricting. He shot forward, trying to clear his throat so he could properly breath as well. He'd never experienced dreams like this. Granted, death had never been such a terrifying prospect either. He'd been held at gunpoint, had a knife shoved under his throat, but those deaths would have been quick and besides, he'd always known someone had his back.

When he had fallen, everything had been coming down around him with no one there to help him. He had tried to outrun it, he'd known he tried his hardest, and yet in that moment his best wasn't good enough.

He was ashamed of himself, nightmares just being one of the many things to add to the growing list of problems. Brock had experienced nightmares as a kid but that was a long time ago. Now the feeling of waking in a cold sweat, unable to breath, and terrified of what the dark corners of his room could hide was unknown to him.

Looking around, he saw that it was still light outside but that was quickly disappearing and Jack wasn't back yet. If Brock had to guess, it was probably still the same day but that didn't ease any worry inside him.

That was another unknown feeling. He'd never worried about anything, not like this. This was a cold fear of being left alone, left to die and never be found and not being able to do anything about it. It was a troubling thought.

Days passed with nothing but thoughts and the occasional nightmare to appear. Because of his messed up sleeping habit, Brock couldn't tell how many days passed but he eventually got to the point where he had to drag himself over to the kitchen area to get water or food and he had to dump the bucket into the shower (thank god they had one).

At least six days passed, Brock knew that, when the door finally opened.

His first thought was HYDRA. They'd found him and they were coming to kill him. Would it be someone he knew? A former friend? Then he thought about SHIELD. He wouldn't just be killed. He'd be tortured for weeks or even months before death would finally come.

He wanted to cry from relief upon seeing Jack instead.

Instead, all he got out was a half strangled sob that he couldn't quite keep in which caused Jack to look twice at him. When Brock didn't say anything else or let out any other distressed noises, Jack ignored it.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine."

It was a lie but one that neither felt like broaching at the moment. Jack gave a small nod and said, "I'm sorry it took so long. It was harder than I first expected."

"I had a hard time keeping track of days," said Brock, his voice finally regaining control. "Has it been six days?"

"Eight actually. Like I said, I didn't mean for this to happen," Jack replied and Brock almost felt like yelling at him, anger was an emotion he didn't mind expressing, but the man was just so goddamn sincere that he found he couldn't.

"And what did you find?" Brock asked instead, pushing himself up.

"Well I went to Egypt and caught a plane to Switzerland. From there I went to known places of operation that weren't against HYDRA but weren't exactly working for them, talked to some people, and eventually ended up in Paris, France where there's a base for AIM. The ones that don't work for MODOK."

"Do you know if they'll help us?"

"Well they either wanted money or some form of Intel, both of which we do not contain at the moment. I promised them something better."

"Which was?"

"Us, after you get your legs back."

"You what?! What the _fuck_ were you—"

"Thank you for having so much trust in my judgment," muttered Jack as he interrupted Brock. "Do you really think me that much of an idiot? This is what I figured; neither of us wants to exactly join up with anyone now or even in the near future. However, AIM needs people to fight for them so what do they do? MODOK has HYDRA agents keeping them safe but these AIM agents don't have that luxury and their research is frowned upon by most governments so, at least openly, there's no support there. Instead, they hire mercenaries."

Brock frowned. "Is that what we are now? Mercenaries?"

"Is there anything else you can think of giving them? Besides, if you really don't like it we can always kill the lot afterwards. They're a bunch of science geeks, not military officers. It would be easy."

Brock gave a small nod. "Mercenaries, it certainly sounds appealing."

"I figured you'd think so. Work when you want, charge whatever you want. I certainly wouldn't mind it," responded Jack. "I figured we'd head out tomorrow."

"I've done nothing but sleep these past few days," Brock said. "Let's head out tonight."


	3. Emotions

There wasn't exactly much to pack so soon came the fact that Brock would have to be carried down. He sure as hell wasn't going to let him do it bridal style and being thrown over the man's shoulder would just be difficult because Jack was so tall and the door frame not wide enough.

Finally, Jack sat down in front of him and said, "Let me take your cast off. You can hold on around my neck and without the cast that should be easier."

It took a while, getting the cast off, but after it was done, the freeness to his arm was welcomed. Brock was pretty sure everything was now healed but if he ever got the urge to punch a wall it still might not be a good idea.

Jack then got up and turned, kneeling down so that Brock could reach around his neck. Pulling himself up, Brock hanged on as Jack took him out of the room for the first time. He didn't concentrate on his surroundings though, trying to just keep a hold around Jack without choking him, his dead weight legs doing nothing but causing trouble. They did finally make it down the stairs and Brock was put into the passenger's seat.

Going back inside, Brock waited until Jack came back out and asked, "What was that about?"

"Just had to talk to the land owner."

"Did you kill him?"

"Believe it or not Brock, sometimes 'talk' literally means talk," Jack said with a roll of his eyes. He started the jeep and started driving down the dirt road. "Taking a car will be longer but also safer I figured. Especially since we don't have a wheelchair for you and a lack of a wheelchair makes us look a little strange."

"Oh, that's what makes us look strange," Brock muttered as he touched the burn on his cheek. "Yeah, that and the fact we look like hardened criminals doesn't help either."

Jack let out a snort but didn't say anything as they both lapsed into silence. This was the first time Brock had ever seen the city where he'd apparently been in for weeks, and he found that he wished he could've actually been awake and mobile for part of it.

He'd been to Africa twice for two different missions but that didn't exactly give you time to check out the local culture. Brock knew he could never be content, living the same lives as the people they drove by but that didn't mean he couldn't find them interesting.

Brock watched outside the window until they were out of the city and even then he continued watching the landscape as it passed him by. He wondered how many animals hid from them and the other few cars on the roads. He wondered if it was all really as barren as it looked. An hour and then two passed when Jack finally said something and Brock had to shake himself from his thoughts.

"What?"

"Well our last conversation was kind of cut short and I'm still curious. I asked what your mother was like."

"Why the hell do you want to know?" Brock asked, his calm disappearing.

"Because when you talked about her, she sounded like the most detestable creature on the planet. _And_ I want to know why you would deny that you like sweets so much. I figured there might a connection," responded Jack as he glanced over. "It's simply an odd thing to get riled up about."

A part of Brock told him to shut up, to not say anything. He ignored that though, never having vented on this subject beforehand. Now all he wanted to do was scream as the memories came back. "She called it purging the devil. Said it cleansed me. She said that every time she beat me which was nearly once a day. I remember hearing my first rock song and liking it and singing it when I came home. What did she do? Give me an extra broken rib. When I said I liked candy, what did she do? She gave me another black eye."

"On candy?"

"She didn't trust the companies, granted she didn't trust much of anyone or anything new because it had to be evil. I tried going to the movies once and she beat me for it," Brock said, fingernails digging into his skin. "But you know the worst of it? She wasn't doing it to be mean or evil. She honestly thought she was doing some good. I ran away when I was ten. Some of it stayed with me though, even when I tried to let it go. Like sweets. I've never really listened to music either. Or watched movies or read books. Not for fun at least."

Brock had to stop talking for a moment, the scream still building in his throat but he finally eased it away until it disappeared. He hadn't shouted at Jack which had been good. "Did you ever have parents?"

"I was an orphan."

"You're lucky then. There are good parents out there, yeah I know that, but in my opinion, the chances of getting one of them are to high to make it worthwhile."

"Oh I don't know, being an orphan isn't all fun and games either. Did you know I was actually a runt as a kid?"

Brock had to do a double take. "You? You're kidding me, right?"

"No, when I hit fifteen I sprouted but before that I was one of the shortest, smallest kids there. No one thought I was going to grow any. Made me easy to pick on at first until I figured out there tricks. Then it was easy to undermine them or hide anyways. Eventually they all left me alone, even before I grew. After I grew I was the freak and I didn't really talk to anyone except when I had to."

"I would think that would cause you to have a hard time connecting with people. You seem to make friends easily."

"You have to realize the other orphans were like my brothers and sisters. They were annoying and rude and I never counted them as friends. I don't mind other people and if they think of me as a friend, that's fine. They just better know that the feeling probably isn't mutual."

"I can understand that," Brock said with a small nod. He glanced over, eyes narrowing as he added, "Why are you telling me all this? Why do you even want to know about me? Besides, you could've looked enough of this stuff out of a file."

"Not all of it. Not the things that mattered," Jack said. "Like the fact you've never done anything fun in your life. I'm guessing you didn't see Star Wars when you were young?"

"Nope. Probably the only fourteen year old who didn't."

Jack laughed. "God that's odd to think about. I was two when it came out."

Brock shook his head, his mouth lifting up into a smile. "Alright, you pulled out some of my past. Now let me ask you a question. Why the hell are you helping me?"

"Are you still preoccupied with that?"

"Yes! I tried figuring out what it could be but nothing came to mind. Just tell me."

"Give me one valid reason why I should."

Brock opened his mouth to sarcastically retort back it was because he couldn't run either way but quickly shut it again. Instead, he thought of an honest to god reason why he should know what Jack was keeping secret. This wasn't a game. It was a serious question that Brock wanted answered. Hesitantly, he said, "You seem to want to be my friend, said you considered us friends, but if _you_ want that to be mutual, then I need to know what your aim is here."

Jack sighed, "That is a pretty good one. To be honest, I wasn't even thinking of admitting this but you just kept asking so I supposed I'd have to answer eventually." He let out another sigh and said, "I like you."

Despite what Jack had said earlier, Brock wasn't _that_ blind. He blinked, opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, looking away.

"I told you it would freak you out."

"I'm not freaked out."

"Uh huh," murmured Jack. "Is that why you're not looking at me."

"No. I mean yes! Wait, I mean—argh!" Brock buried his face in his hands. "That makes zero sense."

"Does it?"

"Yes! I'm brash, and loud, and rude. I don't ever make anything easy for anyone. And now I'm a cripple! What is there possibly to like?!"

"Well, for starters, if life was easy then it wouldn't be any fun now would it? Second, you being a cripple does not change who you are, or at least it doesn't have to. You're still amazingly strong and smart. You also neglected to add you're charming."

"But I'm rude! And I curse at you all the time. I can't keep my mouth shut when I'm pissed! What about that?"

"Believe it or not, humans are not perfect creatures so I don't expect you to be perfect," Jack said with a rather matter-o-fact voice. Then he stopped, a small blush moving over his cheeks and it was his turn to look uncomfortable. "Besides you're kind of funny and…cute when you get riled up."

"_Cute_? People have called me psychotic and intelligible. I've been known as charismatic and interesting but cute?"

Jack snorted. "Shut up okay. You wanted to know so I told you."

"Just don't tell me you have like…been keeping a crush on me since we met. That would just be weird."

"Oh hell no," Jack said with a laugh which eased the tension some. "As a kid I admired you, I admit that, but I didn't have a stupid crush and I certainly didn't idolize you either. Just as I know you're not perfect now, I knew you weren't perfect then. I don't think I really thought of you as…well anything besides a mentor until we got put in the STRIKE team together."

"And then you developed a crush?"

"Don't flatter yourself so much. It was more of an 'I'd like to get to know you' thing. Just as a friend really. We've both had each others' backs multiple times, I trusted you by that point. Subconsciously, I don't know when my thoughts on you changed but consciously it was when I had to choose between you or HYDRA."

Brock let out a sigh. "You do realize that I would've chosen HYDRA in your position."

Jack shrugged, glancing from the road to Brock with an unconcerned look on his face. "I wouldn't have expected anything less of you. HYDRA was your family for decades. You actually grew up with a warped version of a family and wanted to fix that so you did. For me, HYDRA was a job and nothing more. I never really had a family and didn't mind not having one. I never minded being the outsider. You're not like that so if you're trying to push me away or piss me off by saying you would've killed me instead of saving me it's not going to work. I already knew that beforehand."

"You…you are something else," muttered Brock with a shake of his head, honestly not sure what he should say. He closed his eyes and then reopened them but he was still in the jeep, still in Africa, and still paralyzed. He looked back at Jack who was once again concentrating on the road. "If I had a chance to get back with HYDRA but it involved killing you, do you think I would?"

"That's hard to say. You hold grudges for practically eternity but like I said, HYDRA was the family you made for yourself. I suppose, when I was gone and you were stuck alone, you most certainly would have. When you first woke, you would've killed me as well. Now, I don't know. You could be utterly disgusted by what I've said and plan on dropping me the moment you get your legs back."

It was so nonchalant that it shocked Brock. "How can you talk like this if you claim to like me?"

"For one thing, I rarely cloud my judgment with false hope. Also, something that plenty of people forget is that when you truly love someone that means you would do anything for them. For me, if that means getting ditched, traded in for HYDRA, that's fine with me. I won't give up my life, I do care about that more than you, but I will do everything in my power to make sure you are happy. If that means getting out of your life, then so be it."

"You're inhuman," Brock finally got out, still digesting all that had been said.

"I'm just being honest with you," Jack replied innocently as if he hadn't just spilled out his entire being along with Brock's entire psyche into the conversation. "Do you utterly hate me now?"

"No I'm…I'm a bit unnerved, in shock maybe, but I don't hate you," said Brock. "And for the record I wouldn't kill you just to get back with HYDRA. They…my trust was wrongly placed, let's just say that. I mean, I honestly think I'd rather give myself to Captain Rogers than get with HYDRA again."

"Oh, I don't know, Cap can be pretty violent sometimes. We did hold his brainwashed friend as a pawn for decades."

"Hey, I didn't know it was his friend, not that I would have or even _could_ have done anything about it if I had."

"I wonder where he is now. I heard he escaped."

"Wherever that is, I'm sure he'll be fine. He's more than capable and Cap will take care of him once he finds him. I may not agree with that man's ideals but I certainly can't argue that he's probably one of the greatest men I've known."

"I'm surprised that out of everyone you've decided not to harbor a grudge against Captain America."

Brock shrugged. "Like I told him before, it really wasn't anything personal. He is who he is and I am who I am. Besides, Cap never hid his true face to anyone."

"True enough," replied Jack. He glanced over again. "And you do an excellent job of moving from subject to subject."

"Damn it."

"Don't be to hard on yourself. I only spotted it because I expected you to do something like that," Jack said. "I promise you I'll leave you be once you get—"

"No!" And it's not quite a shout but it's certainly not whispered either and Brock curses himself for that. "No-I mean-let's just talk about this later. Okay?"

"That's fine with me," Jack responded, giving Brock an odd look.

They both lapsed into silence and it would've been fine if Jack wasn't so damn unfazed by it. His calm acceptance of the whole situation was not only unnerving but also pissing Brock off. Brock also couldn't read the man which was annoying as well. Jack had a pretty good hold of his emotions so it was hard to tell if he was pissed too and just holding it in, or was being truthful about everything.

Brock tried to ignore it but despite trying to concentrate on the outside, he kept glancing over at Jack to see if something might slip through even though nothing did.

It took a while but he finally realized that he was basically changing the subject on his own consciousness. He just really didn't want to focus on his feelings and shit so instead he was trying to figure out Jack's own emotions. Realizing that didn't improve his mood either.

It wasn't even that it was Jack of all people liking him or that he was a man. That had nothing to do with it and any warped habits or feelings that had grown from his early life with his mom wasn't in the way either (he'd just been focusing on getting away not girls or boys for that matter so she hadn't bothered with any of that). It was simply the fact that someone, _anyone_, would want to be in a relationship with him.

Brock had never been in a relationship. One-night stands? Sure, it was one of the many options in relieving stress and when he was younger they could be pretty fun. But the job alone had left little to no time to think about relationships unless he'd wanted one within his own unit and he'd never even considered that.

He let out a groan, one that he knew Jack heard but really didn't care either way. Instead, Brock just made sure to turn his full body, picking his legs up to help get the desired effect, towards the outside and watched everything go by.

Jack ended up driving the entire night even though he'd probably been awake the entire day. The next day, they continued to drive, stopping for food, and occasionally chatting on the way. They stopped somewhere in Sudan to rest for the night and then the next five days they simply stopped on the side of the road when Jack needed to sleep.

The nightmares still appeared but Brock was always able to realize where he was before he did something rash. Jack knew about the nightmares and every time Brock woke up from one he was always shocked at how concerned the other was. However, Brock never said what had happened Jack didn't ask, keeping his distance. Brock wished they would stop and the seemingly random order that they came in didn't help either.

When they finally reached Bulgaria, it was the first place they stayed with an actual hotel. Jack ended up stealing a wheelchair as well, from who or where Brock didn't know. It made him feel a little bad but certainly not enough to give it back. It was nice not having to be carried around by anyone.

Jack had gone in, gotten the room booked, and then helped Brock get into the wheelchair and gave him the keycard, saying he was going to leave to get food and anything they might need.

Getting to the room was pretty easy and when he finally got into the room, it was nice to see something normal. He still needed to get some regular clothes, and shoes for that matter walking or not. The Ethiopian garb now helped to make him stand out instead of the exact opposite it did in Africa.

It wasn't until Brock had dragged himself into the bed that he noticed the object on the bedside table along with a note. When Jack had gotten it and how he had found the time, Brock had no idea. The book was old and the note said 'You still need to see the movies but this is worth the read as well'.

Brock shook his head and crumpled up the stick note to throw in a trashcan later. How the book was in English, Brock didn't know either seeing as everyone spoke Bulgarian. Instead, he let any thoughts on that matter go to the imagination and then began to read the novelization of Star Wars, the first time he'd ever read a book for enjoyment.

Jack arrived soon after with food, some weapons, and new cloths thank god. Before Brock ate though, Jack helped him get undressed and took him to the bathroom to help get him comfortable in the shower. Brock hadn't had a real shower in over a month so when he was finally left on the seat with the cool water flowing over him, he might as well call it heaven.

Once done, he changed into much more normal cloths with Jack's help, a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for sleeping in now. After eating but before he went to bed though, he found some scissors and was thankful when Jack had bought (or stolen but that didn't really make a difference) a razor.

In the bathroom, he snipped and shaved off the beard and finally calmed his hair in to the usual look he'd had for years. Once done, he noticed how the scars, especially the burn, seemed to be almost illuminated but it didn't really matter. He no longer looked like some wild thing that had crawled out of the ground and instead looked like himself.

It was a good feeling to go to bed with.


	4. Conformation

It was the Helicarrier dream; over and over he went in the loop. When Brock finally did wake up, it was with a gasp. He tried to calm his beating heart until he realized the body next to him. It was Jack but why the hell was he in Brock's bed?

Brock was so preoccupied with that, he didn't even realize that he could move his legs as he threw the sheet off.

The blood was overwhelming.

He saw the wound, right in the main artery of the leg. The blood was everywhere, on him, on the cloths, under his finger nails, and on the floor.

"No. No no no!" Brock covered up the wound with his hands, he had to stop the bleeding, he couldn't let Jack die.

But there was no bleeding left to stop. It was only then that Brock realized how cold Jack was.

"No! You're not dead! You can't be dead! Stop it right now! Stop it!" he screamed only to be shaken awake by Jack.

The sudden shock of seeing Jack's face again but with eyes open and breathing evident sent Brock reeling and it was only Jack's hands on his shoulders that stopped him from falling backwards.

Jack stared at him, probably trying to gage whether or not Brock was with reality or not, but he finally seemed content with the results and quickly wrapped his arms around Brock to put him in the wheelchair.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Brock asked, his voice slightly breathless even though he wasn't sure if he'd been screaming in just the dream or not.

"We need to clean your hands. You did quite a number on them," replied Jack.

Brock looked at his hands and saw what he meant. They were as bloody as they had been in the dream only instead of Jack's it was his own blood. His fingernails had scratched them raw and it hurt to open or close them.

As Jack started the running water and looked for anything that could be used as disinfectant, Brock had time to calm himself. He'd never had a dream like that. Seeing Jack there, so still, it was a terrifying idea and made Brock wonder why he had such a dream now. He looked up as Jack began tearing apart parts of a shirt he had gotten.

"I'll have to go get something to clean the wounds later but for now we should try to clean them as best we can," Jack said, very slowly and methodically washing Brock's hands of the blood. He took time to help get the bits of flesh and blood from under Brock's nails as well and finally began to bandage up the hands.

"What did I say?" Brock asked softly.

"Nothing. Your breathing just became elevated. Your hands were acting like they were trying to cover up something but because nothing was there, they just clenched and unclenched rapidly," Jack answered.

Brock nodded, watching Jack finish. The dream had made him afraid of losing Jack. He didn't want that to happen. He couldn't _allow_ it to happen.

Jack took him back to his bed and helped him into it but as he tried to turn and go Brock stopped him, grabbing on to the back of his shirt. Jack turned but Brock looked away, not being able to look him in the eyes.

"You were dead," Brock whispered softly. "I never want to see that again so don't ever leave me, understand? Never leave me whether it's in death or by choice. I can't lose you."

And Brock meant that. The dream told him something that frightened him. He had found a connection with Jack and now he couldn't lose him no matter what. It was the only connection with anyone that he had now.

However, Jack only said, "Go back to bed Brock," and slowly removed himself from between Brock's fingers.

Brock slowly fell back onto his pillow, his heart remaining cold. What had that meant? Did Jack not believe him? Why? Brock was being pretty fucking honest there and all Jack had to say was go to bed. Where were his words of wisdom that he'd spouted out over their trip here?

Pissed, confused, and exhausted, Brock passed out again, this time to no dreams. When he woke up, everything was ready to go and Jack was lazily watching television. He glanced over to Brock and asked, "Are you ready to go or do you want breakfast first?"

In response, Brock's stomach growled causing Jack's lips to twitch but there was honestly something sad in his face that didn't quite make since. "Here, I'll help you get your pants on then," Jack said, getting up walking over to him.

Both remained silent as Jack helped him first with the pants and then the shoes. It was only after he was done that Brock asked, "What the hell was that last night?"

Jack frowned. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Don't play fucking coy Rollins," Brock growled, his temper flaring. "After what I said last night all you had to say was go back to bed. Like, why the hell would you say that?"

Surprise flitting across the man's face, Jack said, "I honestly didn't think you meant it. You'd just had, what I gathered, was a very disturbing nightmare. I didn't think you would stick by any words that you said at the time."

"I may be brash, I may shout things out on a whim but I will always stick by them," Brock said. "So answer me now. You will never leave me, understood?"

Jack looked surprised but slowly gave a small nod. "I understand."

"Good, then hurry up and take me to breakfast."

"I agreed to stick by your side, not be your servant."

"I don't fucking care. You put me in a bad mood and now I'm hungry so hurry up before I run over your god damn toe."

It was only once they were actually out of the room and nearly to the elevator that Brock realized the strange sounds coming from behind him was Jack trying not to laugh.

* * *

When Jack had seen Brock freaking out in his sleep, it hadn't been the first time he'd known the man to experience a nightmare. On the road here, there had been plenty of times when Brock had struggled in his dreams but never had he harmed himself while stuck in one.

Afraid that he may harm himself further or even start sleep walking, Jack had to shake him awake. Once there, he took him and cleaned his hands but as he helped Brock back into bed, he was shocked by the words. It was impossible for him to tell if they were sincere or promises built on a fear that would disappear in the morning.

And Brock mentioned him dying. Jack had never been in a near death situation, at least not around Brock, so whatever he was talking about had to have been made up from imagination. He wondered if this was the first time Brock had experienced a dream similar to that or if this wasn't the first time.

Going back to sleep, when Jack woke up again, Brock was still asleep. He gathered there things and then sat and watched TV, nothing of interest really on.

When Brock told him that he meant the words of the night before though, Jack honestly wasn't sure how to react. If Brock kept his word, then Jack would love nothing more than being with him, even if it was as nothing more than partners in crime.

Now Jack found himself sitting across from Brock in the breakfast area. Brock had been right, he was in a pissy mood, but as he swallowed more coffee and ate more bagels it certainly seemed to lighten. Jack didn't want to piss him off again but he was still curious and if his questions hadn't pushed Brock away before, they certainly wouldn't now. Besides, if Brock's temper was his greatest downfall, then Jack's overwhelming curiosity was his own.

"You said I died. How?" asked Jack as he sipped his coffee.

Brock jerked ever so slightly, it was small and well controlled but Jack still caught it. "I don't know…actually."

Jack cocked his head to the side.

"You were already dead."

"Ah." Jack waited for more but nothing else came. That was interesting. Jack left it there but promised himself he would see if he could find out anything more later on.

Jack then took Brock to the jeep and went back inside to grab their things. Getting in, he said, "We can either drive straight to AIM or we can take a break in between. It's your choice."

"How many hours?"

"Around twenty-five."

Brock hesitated, obviously wanting to hurry, but finally said, "Break in between. I think that's for the best."

"Good, then let's stop and get something for your hands first."

It was a quick stop at a gas station and though his hands still hurt like hell, Brock bit his lip and ignored the pain.

They got back into the car, lapsing into silence, when Jack happened to glance over and noticed the book in Brock's hands.

"So you do like it."

"Shut up. I'm reading," muttered Brock.

"Fine," Jack said, a small grin on his face. "You're a fast reader. Almost done with it I see."

"I _said_ I'm reading," Brock repeated. It would appear that he was still a bit pissed at Jack but also completely engrossed in the book. It wasn't until he was finished that he finally seemed calm enough to talk to Jack. "Where are we?"

"We just left Serbia and have entered Croatia. You were reading for about four hours."

Brock seemed a bit surprised by that. Looking down at the book, he asked, "Are there more?"

"Are there more? God I don't know how many Star Wars books there are. But there are six movies too."

"There are? I thought there was just the one."

"Seriously? How could you not know there were six movies? Everyone knows that. Even people who have never seen them know that."

"I led a very warped childhood okay? Not my fault," muttered Brock as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Where were you thinking of stopping?"

"Somewhere in Italy so that means we'll have driven over half the way there," Jack responded. "So you liked the book?"

"Yes, I did actually."

"Good. I'll have to find something else for you to read and then get you into music and movies."

Brock snorted but smiled at that nonetheless. However, it slowly disappeared as he said, "I'm sorry about this morning. And last night."

"You can't control what you dream," Jack said with a small shrug. "I've had my fair share of nightmares as well, though probably nothing like you're experiencing now."

"Well that's the thing, the dream, last night, it made me realize something," Brock admitted, looking away. "I realized that I need you. And I hate needing people but really, I've never been able to stay on my own for long. I'm not like you. I'm not fine with being an outsider, the loner. And I need you. You're the only person I can connect with."

Jack gave a small, sad smile. "I already promised I'd stick by your side. No matter what. I may have died in your dream but I won't in real life. Even if that means outliving you, I'll never leave your side."

"Then believe me when I say that means more to me than anything else ever could," Brock said. "You know, I've never had a friend, not really. I called HYDRA my family but I didn't know any individuals, not personally enough to call them friends."

"And we are friends now?"

"Yes," responded Brock. "So thank you, for sticking by me even when all I've done is yell at you."

Jack's heart swelled, the words meaning everything to him. "No, thank you."

Brock looked like he might want to argue but stopped, shook his head, and simply smiled. Jack noted that he seemed more at ease now than ever before. Seeing him looking out the jeep window, loose and calm for the first time in days, it was a good view.

They drove for several more hours, stopping for lunch and then dinner, the sky brightening and then darkening all over again. Finally, Jack stopped at a hotel and after getting them a room went back to grab their few bags and help Brock into the wheelchair. He'd gotten better at the transition from the vehicle to it but he still needed someone to grab it out of the trunk for him.

"Now, before we get in there and you throw a fit, they didn't have any rooms with two beds but I can sleep on the floor if you want."

Brock sighed shaking his head. "Jack, you slept on the floor for over a week in Ethiopia waiting for me to wake up. Besides, you've seen me naked. I think we can act like adults and sleep in the same goddamn bed."

"Fine, but next time you mention something like that you might want to say it a bit quieter," Jack responded as he rolled Brock into the elevator. "I think we just got some strange looks."

Brock threw a fist backwards, hitting Jack in the center of his chest. "Oh to hell with them. Besides, were in Italy. The strange looks were probably just due to us being Americans at least and how we look at worst."

Jack chuckled, pressed the button for their floor, and then waited as the elevator moved up, stopped, and the doors opened. He pushed Brock down the hall and into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Let me take a look at your hands."

"They're fine."

"You hide it well but I can tell they're hurting you. We definitely don't need them getting infected," Jack said.

Brock rolled his eyes but let the other slowly unwrap them. They'd gotten proper bandaging at the gas station as well. Scabs had developed but most of them were cracked, thanks to how much Brock moved his hands.

"Not bad though it'll be a while before they're completely healed," Jack said as he bandaged them back up. "It's late. Do you want to go to bed now?"

"Most definitely," Brock responded.

* * *

Originally he wanted to tell Jack to switch sides. Not because he had a preference but because Jack plopped down on the same side as where he'd been in the dream. He even flopped over on the same side, back facing Brock.

But the lights weren't on, there was no blood, and Brock could see the small movement of Jack's shoulders going up and down. Brock couldn't get the idea out of his head that when he woke up, Jack would be dead. So instead, he changed his position from how he had been in the dream.

The bed was certainly big enough to keep a safe distance from Jack but instead he pulled himself over, made more difficult from being paralyzed. He was more in the middle of the bed now but still not touching. He lay on his back for some time and then finally rolled over and closed the few inches in between them.

Either Jack was an extremely light sleeper or he had been faking it because he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Shut up. I'm testing something," Brock shot back. He moved closer until he was flat against Jack and then slowly moved one arm to lie across Jack.

"What-ow! Was hitting me really necessary?" asked Jack as he shook his head.

"Yes because you keep talking. Now shut the fuck up."

Jack grumbled but turned silent and still.

Brock stayed where he was, wondering if this would change anything. He'd never slept with someone like this, for comfort. Usually it was alone or surrounded by his STRIKE team while regularly changing who was on watch. With one night stands, he either was passed out and woke up to an empty bed or left before his one night stand woke up. It was somehow different, knowing Jack would be there in the morning and they didn't have that threat of being ambushed at any moment (at least it wasn't likely).

He also needed some conformation that the dream wouldn't come true. Though reading had helped a lot, he'd thought about the dream plenty afterwards. He knew Jack would never go down so easy as to just let someone cut a main artery but Brock knew he didn't want to see all that blood again.

Brock fell asleep with his face pressed up against Jack's back, curling over the larger man.

Nevertheless, Brock did wake up to an empty bed and he immediately started to panic. Before he started yelling though, the bathroom door opened and Jack walked through it.

"Where the hell were you?"

"In the bathroom," Jack said slowly, pausing mid-step to give Brock an odd look. "Am I no longer allowed to go to the restroom?"

Brock just fumed and replied, "You're an ass now get back here. It's like three in the morning."

Jack rolled his eyes and climbed back into the bed. He was still surprised when Brock resumed his prior position though.

"Are you really more comfortable sleeping like this?"

"Why?" Brock asked hurriedly. "If it bothers you I—"

"No, you just never struck me as the cuddling type," Jack teased.

"Shut up," Brock responded, hitting him in the back again. "This calms me."

"Says the one who keeps punching me," muttered Jack which earned him another punch. "Okay, okay I'll shut up."

"Good, now go to sleep and no moving," growled out Brock.

He didn't have to see to know Jack was rolling his eyes at him.

"Whatever you say," Jack responded, with a sigh.

Brock tightened his grip ever so slightly and then fell asleep for the second time that night.


	5. Connections

**AN: I know it's been forever! So sorry about that but hope you enjoy. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon!**

* * *

Jack was surprised but pleased when he woke up and Brock was still wrapped around him. He honestly didn't know where they stood at but he doubted any simple word would ever be able to describe Brock Rumlow. Instead, he stayed where he was, content with the present. He would have woken Brock up but that would just put him in a grumpy mood, especially after waking up in the middle of the night.

Almost an hour passed by before he felt Brock move against him.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly nine here," responded Jack. He noted how Brock tightened his grip ever so slightly, how soft his voice was. Brock hadn't shook or even really moved yet Jack knew something was wrong. "Brock…I'm here. I haven't left."

He worded it carefully so he wasn't blatantly saying it was a nightmare. Nevertheless, he was almost positive that it had been.

"I know, it's just…nothing," murmured Brock.

Jack waited, for anything, but Brock stayed where he was. Then the tears were felt against his back, a heavy heave, and once again nothing.

"I'm not dead. You know that right?" asked Jack.

"I know. The dream was worse than that," Brock whispered. "You didn't exist."

Of course, that didn't hit him as hard as it must have hit Brock. It was an odd feeling though, to think of as not existing. "Was it really that bad?"

"Not in the dream," Brock said. "You just…you were never there so I never had to miss you. And when I woke up, I was terrified as to what was happening only to find out that you were real again."

"I can't do anything about not existing," Jack said, wishing he could see Brock's face. "I can't do anything for your dreams except wish that you make it back to me. There's no one for me to fight, nothing that I can protect you from. I'm certainly not a damn psychiatrist either."

"I know you're not," murmured Brock and Jack could mentally see the man pulling himself together.

Silence passed and Jack allowed time to as well. He waited until he could finally feel Brock pulling away. Finally, Jack turned around to face him. All tears and traces of them were gone and Brock looked like himself. "We should leave now. I've wasted to long."

Jack sighed. "This wasn't wasted. You did what you needed to do."

"No, it was," responded Brock with a shake of his head. "Come on. We need to go."

Jack helped Brock up, got him dressed, and then made sure he was ready for the day.

"It'll take us around nine hours to get there," Jack said.

"With your driving more like eight," Brock said with a small smile.

As always, Brock wasn't good with emotion so Jack could see straight through him. Jack didn't say anything though, knowing that now Brock had spoken his fears, he would only deny anything that came afterwards. Instead, Jack just hurried up until they were both in the car once more.

Brock was right though. The trip only took about eight hours before they both arrived in Paris, France. Jack had to park the car along the road and the fact that he found a space at all was amazing. Getting out, he helped Brock into the wheelchair and then pushed him down the street and then turned onto a side road, one where cars couldn't fit.

"Where is it anyways?" asked Brock.

"Just up ahead. It's this old antique shop," replied Jack. "Pretty nifty thing. Their labs go into the catacombs."

"Well that's not creepy."

"When you want to build your own secret base, you can decide where to put it," Jack said with a shake of his head. God, it felt like the morning hadn't even happened it was so odd.

"Almost there?"

"Yes," Jack responded.

It was about three more minutes before they entered a seemingly normal shop. Jack took in a deep breath. He had no idea what kind of process the AIM agents had in mind for fixing Brock. It could take minutes or it could take months. Either way, he hoped Brock was prepared for their answer.

* * *

Going into the place, Brock was reminded of Rogers and how he had been remade under a seemingly innocent antique shop. Maybe it was just one of those weird things that secret organizations always did or maybe it was simple coincidence.

His heart beat rapidly and he worried about what the response would be. He wanted to walk now but things were rarely that simple or quick.

There was an old man moving around and dusting objects. He was the only person in the shop. Jack had stopped rolling Brock himself and now walked up to the man and exchanged a few words. Brock didn't hear what they were but he could tell the man had a thick accent.

He rolled himself forward just as the man headed towards the back.

"Are we following?" he questioned.

Jack nodded, moving back behind Brock, ready to push him, but Brock waved him away. "I'll be fine."

Jack raised an eyebrow but complied anyways. Brock knew it was stupid but he wanted to stand tall, at least as much as possible. He could at least damn well roll himself around.

They followed the old man to the back of the building and went to a hidden elevator behind a glass case of artifacts. The man didn't get in with them and Brock watched as he closed the metal gate and took a step back as they headed downwards.

"You've been down here?" asked Brock.

"Just once but yes," he responded.

Brock gave a small nod as the elevator continued to go down and then stopped. Jack opened it up and headed out, Brock following behind him.

The room wasn't very large, but AIM agents filled it and ran in orderly fashion from one place to another like a well oiled machine. Brock knew it was a small scale organization but it was still impressive nonetheless.

One man walked up and gave a small nod to Jack. He was middle aged and completely bald with possibly the greatest poker face Brock had seen. "Welcome. My name is Dr. Dubois. We have been waiting for your arrival for some time," the man said, his accent heavy and English moderate. "Have the terms of our agreement been made clear to you?"

"Yeah, I kill whomever you ask me to and I get to walk again," Brock said with a wave of his hand.

"You make us sound like petty murderers. Believe me; every kill will only help our progress."

Brock scoffed. "I can respect that but if there's ever anyone that pisses you off enough I can always kill them for you, free of charge."

That earned a small smile. "I will keep that in mind. Now straight to business, we cannot fix your legs, not so they are exactly like they were before."

"Figured as much. What can you do though?" asked Brock, his curiosity building.

"The quickest and only safe route at the moment is a type of harness that you would wear. Integrated into the part of your still undamaged spine, it would allow you to move just as easily as before," Dr. Dubois said. "However, if the harness is ever damaged, you would be just as weak as you are now."

"Nous sommes tous plein de faiblesse et les erreurs; pardonnons-nous réciproquement nos sottises c'est la première loi de la nature. "

Jack had to blink back his shock as the man continued to smile. "You make a good point. And I must compliment you on your French. Now, I will say why cannot just fix your neurons. Such technology is not within our grasp just yet. Nevertheless, we can give you feeling to your lower half as well as movement instead of giving you the harness. The surgery would certainly take some time and it cannot be done right away as tests are still being done. Nevertheless, the basis of the procedure is that the area below the damaged spine would be cut off and changed to robotic parts. Thanks to our current information though, the parts will look and act just like human legs, you will be able to feel, and warmth will be able to emit from the skin. The only difference is that instead of tissue and muscle underneath there would be metal and instead of blood electrical wires would be placed throughout."

Hmm, it would also mean that he wouldn't need a catheter anymore, Brock thought. That certainly seemed like a good incentive. However, the man seemed to take his silence as uncertainty and quickly continued.

"I must add that neither am I Aldrich Gillian or MODOK. I will admit that the other AIM may have more advanced technology, or even another organization. Ours is just to small at the moment."

"Thank you for your honesty," Brock replied. "Nevertheless I would much rather work with you _and_ we'll make sure you have the room you need to expand as well, once I can move again."

"Then it is a deal. Let me show you to the work room," Dr. Dubois said with relief as he quickly turned and started walking away. It was a brisk pace but also one that made it clear he didn't want to lose them.

As they walked Jack commented, "I didn't know you spoke French."

"I was stationed here for a while. I didn't need to learn the language but…it made things easier so I figured why not," Brock answered.

Jack let out a small laugh. "No one just learns a language."

"Well I did," Brock shot back, hitting him again.

They made their way to a room with only two other scientists. One was writing something down; the other was going over the harness that hung in the middle of the room.

The harness itself reflected the light that shown over it. Brock wasn't an expert but it looked very durable but still with the ability to easily hide underneath clothing.

Dr. Dubois held out his hand and the scientist who was writing handed him the clipboard. The man walked over to Brock, handing it to him. "Thanks to Monsieur Rollins, I know of your military background but not your education. Therefore I do not know how helpful that is to you."

Brock thumbed through the pages. He understood about half of what was put down. He was thankful he knew French or else he wouldn't have understood any of it. He glanced up when Dr. Dubois continued to talk.

"The basis of what you are reading however is this: the outer material is made of adamantium, light, strong; needles are drilled into your muscle tissue and bones to allow the harness to move you; and the process is extremely painful," the man said. "However, I doubt that last part matters to you does it?"

"No it does not," responded Brock, flipping through the clipboard one more time before handing it back. "If I do this, then once you finish your other project, where you'd replace my lower limbs with robotics, would I be able to switch to that?"

"Of course, though it shall take some time before it is ready."

Brock gave a small nod, his mind wondering to Winter's arm and then quickly moving back to the present. "When can we begin?"

"Now if need be."

"Then so be it. Uh Jack, I guess—"

"He can stay," Dr. Dubois interjected. "Just not in the operating room."

"Fair enough," Jack replied.

"Good, then if you'd follow me." He turned to the two scientists. "Rassembler le matériel et se mettre en place dans la troisième salle de chirurgie."

Proceeding out of the room, Dr. Dubois led them down several corridors until reaching a door. He turned to Jack and said, "You may wait here. I shall have someone bring you a chair and any refreshments you require."

Jack gave a small nod and used his eyes to follow Brock into the room before the door closed. As Brock rolled himself in, he couldn't help but feel a little bad. He should have told Jack to go do something for an hour and then come back but having him right outside the door was a small comfort that he didn't want to lose.

As Dr. Dubois led him through the process, an assistant helped him strip and then moved him onto the operating table, flat on his stomach. Brock propped his head up and asked, "So, why the hell does it hurt so much? Do you not numb it?"

"Believe me when I say we try but you must be aware and able to feel so that we can tell if the connection is working. We've tried upping the dosage or changing the chemicals but either it's to strong or causes the subject to pass out."

"Sounds like fun."

Brock settled in. The prick of the needle was the first feeling, right into his spine. He just barely turned his head as they lowered the harness down. Thanks to the needles protruding from it, the metal lay at several inches above his skin. He listened to the orders given in French.

"_Vital signs good._"

"_Preparing for connection with spine in 3…2…1…_"

Brock felt as the hooks and needles entered his skin. He could practically visualize them as they rooted into his bones and muscle. Breathing increasing, it was painful as hell but Brock could still keep from screaming. He figured the doctor must have over exaggerated.

"_Continue connection with the rest of the body._"

After that Brock didn't feel most of the harness connecting with his body. Right below the damaged area and around his thighs, he felt small pricks but they were easily manageable. All feeling was gone below his knees. Finally it appeared done until Dr. Dubois said, "_Begin neural connection._"

"Ahhhh!"

Brock's scream lit up the room as his lower back felt like it had suddenly been lit on fire. Just barely he heard someone yell for restraints but someone else yelled out no. The pain was nearly unbearable but Brock was able to keep himself in check as he stayed as still as possible.

Most of the words spoken turned to gibberish as Brock tried to focus on his breathing and keep from screaming again. Slowly, the pain ebbed but it was still clearly there and certainly worse than the first time. Finally, Dr. Dubois was by his head and Brock concentrated on his words.

He'd reverted back to English as he said, "Try moving your foot."

"Seriously?" growled out Brock.

"Move your foot."

Brock let out another growl but tried. At first panic set in until he remembered that he still didn't have any feeling so he wouldn't be able to tell if he moved his foot without looking.

"Try rolling your ankle. Either foot will do," Dr. Dubois said.

Brock tried but still Dr. Dubois didn't say anything that might tell if he was succeeding in the tasks.

"Trying moving your entire leg, wiggling, lifting."

Doing so, he did finally feel something from the small areas in his thighs that could feel themselves being pushed against the operating table.

"Now sit up."

Brock pushed himself up, the pain still there and his breathing frantic, when suddenly he succeeded in throwing his legs under him and then swinging them over the side. The movement was so natural but seeing it happen was so shocking he almost forgot about the pain. Almost.

"Why the hell does it still hurt?" Brock growled out.

"Your neurons have basically been forced to connect with the technology of the harness. Your legs are still paralyzed. It's the harness that is moving you though it should feel just as natural as walking minus the lack of feeling."

"And pain," Brock added. "But yeah, it seems pretty normal. Should I—"

"I would not suggest walking," Dr. Dubois interrupted, having already guessed what he was going to say. "The harness allows mobility. It does not support you so you will have to regain your strength before being able to move as easily as before."

Brock sighed but gave a small nod. "Thank you," he finally said.

"You're welcome, though I will say once you regain your strength I wish to see a demonstration of your skills. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course," Brock replied. Though Dr. Dubois didn't say it, Brock was positive there would also be men following them out of this building and to wherever he and Jack went until he came back to fulfill that promise. Dr. Dubois seemed to trust Brock but he still wasn't an idiot.

Looking at the glint of metal that covered his entire lower body now, Brock asked, "Can I have my clothes back now?"

"Certainly," said Dr. Dubois, that small smile of his playing at his lips again before disappearing. He gestured to one of the assistances who quickly rushed to the side before returning with Brock's cloths.

The shirt came on first, quick and easy. With the boxers and pants, he tried standing on his own and succeeded in pulling them on himself but as Dr. Dubois had said, he was extremely weak and with pain still in his back, Brock was practically winded as he collapsed back into his wheel chair.

"So you're going to actually let us go?"

"Yes. It doesn't mean I won't have eyes on you but I trust you enough to not try and run away. The repercussions would be disastrous anyways."

It was the first threat that Brock had heard from the man's lips but he didn't really blame him. The guy was in charge of this entire organization. It would be unfitting if he didn't let loose a few threats every now and then.

"Understood," Brock replied.

"Good. I'll show you the way out."

The moment the door was open Jack was up. His eyes moving downwards, for a moment he said nothing. It was almost uncomfortable and Brock was about to say something when out of nowhere Jack said, "Huh, I thought you'd be taller."

"Damn it-why the hell do I put up with you!" Brock yelled back, slapping Jack. He wiggled his foot. "I may need to get my strength back but god damn it I can kick your ass now."

Jack looked like he might laugh but kept it in, simply giving a small smile before turning to Dr. Dubois. On the way out they talked only slightly, Dr. Dubois basically retelling everything he'd already said to Brock. Finally with a final nod, Brock and Jack went into the elevator and as it headed upwards, Jack asked, "So what should we do now?"

"As in the next few weeks? Month? I don't know but I do know right now I want something to eat."

"Then we'll eat. What do you want?"

"How the hell should I know? I speak French but I know nothing about the fucking culture besides ah hon hon baguette!"

Brock couldn't remember ever seeing Jack laugh so much.

* * *

**AN: I just used google translate but the first line is from Voltaire and means "We are all full of weakness and errors; let us pardon reciprocally each other's folly is the first law of nature. "**

**The second is just a command meaning "Gather materials and set up the third surgery room."**


	6. Touch

Jack and Brock had ended up finding a small restaurant not far from where AIM was. Though English was fairly common, Jack was extremely grateful for Brock's French. Not long after, Jack found them a hotel and they began to get settled in for who knew how long.

"Does it still hurt?" asked Jack as he threw his bag beside one of the twin sized beds.

"What do you mean?"

Jack almost picked up his bag again just to throw it at Brock. "Please don't deny it. I could see you wincing every which way you moved at the restaurant and you're still doing it."

"Well it doesn't hurt as badly," Brock muttered. He pushed himself up and got onto the bed. Stripping off his jeans, he finally took time to examine his legs.

Looking over, Jack finally saw what they looked like. The sight didn't disgust him in any way, partially because such a thing didn't matter to him and also because he'd honestly seen worse. "You look like Robocop, except you're still more man than robot."

"Like what?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "You really need to broaden your horizons."

Brock just shrugged, concentrating more on what he now looked like for the foreseeable future.

"So what's the plan?" asked Jack.

"What do you mean? We're staying until I get my strength up," Brock replied.

"Alright, I just thought you'd rather not affiliate with anyone so quickly."

"They gave me my legs back. I may not stay with them long but I owe them something. Besides, it's easier to gain your strength without having to worry about running for your life. Anyways, AIM is open and has the ability to gain information that would be much harder gained on our own. They'll be useful for us as well," Brock responded.

Before Jack could reply though, he saw Brock freeze up suddenly and quickly ask, "Why? Were you thinking of leaving?"

"What? God no, I just wanted to know. Whatever your decision I'll follow you," Jack promised. "Unless it's like following you into a volcano or something. In that case you're on your own."

Brock smirked as the tension in his shoulders eased. Jack suspected the remaining tension was from the pain.

"Come on, you should probably rest now," Jack said. "Tomorrow we can figure out crap like plans and whatnot."

"Fine," growled out Brock.

Jack waited to see if Brock needed any help but was pleased when Brock was able to situate himself in the bed by himself for the first time in a long time. Jack threw off his shirt and then pushed himself underneath the bed sheets. "If you need help with anything don't hesitate to wake me up."

"I'll remember," replied Brock.

Letting out a sigh, Jack tried to let himself fall asleep but upon finding himself unable to, he got up. Checking on Brock, he saw he'd already passed out so he grabbed his shirt and shoes again and headed out of the room, making sure to keep a key card in his pocket.

The place was nice enough that there was a bar downstairs open until two in the morning. Jack ordered a beer with some strange name and remained there, sipping occasionally and mostly thinking. If he wanted to get piss drunk he would have gone to a "proper" bar for that. But no, he just needed some time to himself, to decide what he was going to do.

Of course he was staying with Brock, that was obvious, but his whole life was officially over now. Not only was he a wanted criminal for the US government but his own people would like to believe him dead now as well. He also had a completely different organization with a completely different set of rules running things.

Or at least somewhat running things. It appeared that AIM would allow much freer range than Hydra ever did if they kept their word.

But that meant more free time. It meant the chance of a life. It didn't sound that bad honestly but he couldn't help but wonder how Brock was going to adjust to that in the end. All his life it had been do this and do that. Having nothing to do for a few days, weeks, maybe even months on end could drive him insane. Jack could just imagine the man throwing something through the TV after watching the same reruns for the fifth or sixth time.

He knew the man would start out by working out and then suggest going somewhere to drink and maybe get a bite to eat.

But what about reading? Movies? Museums? They were in Paris fucking France after all! Even Jack, who wasn't big on culture, would feel guilty if he didn't go to one historical site. And there was music, parks, and plays. Videogames even! Jack doubted Brock had ever played a videogame in his damn life. There was just so much the man had missed out on and actually having time to be introduced to all of it so late in his life might be difficult. His life had been his team, Hydra, drinking, and sex and all in that order.

As such thoughts flew through Jack's head, the bartender finally asked him if he needed anything else but Jack shook his head and paid for his drink. Going back upstairs, he stripped once more and slipped in under the covers.

On his side, Jack could see the dark outline of Brock. Every few moments he saw Brock's body shudder but he never cried out, nor did he awake, and finally Jack fell asleep. The night yielded no memories and upon waking up the next morning, Jack could say with certainty that he wasn't surprised when he saw Brock working out on the ground.

* * *

Brock's eyes had flashed open, a small tinge of fear still in his heart, but he knew where he was and the fear quickly melted. With Jack still asleep, he went right to working out. Just stretching was difficult but he kept at it, pushing himself to the max.

When Jack woke up, Brock glanced over and saw that the man really wasn't surprised. He also looked like he wanted to interject but he let Brock do his thing. In fact, Jack let him do it for four days straight.

It was on that fifth day that Jack woke up before Brock and forced him awake saying, "We're going out."

"What?"

"You have been doing nothing but working out, eating, and sleeping. It's about time we actually _see_ this city."

"We can see it once I'm better."

Jack sighed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Just moving around at this point will be good for you. You don't have to work yourself to near exhaustion. If you're trying to prove a point then you've proven it. 'Kay? You're capable. Soon you'll be outrunning me again but for now, resting is just as important as exercising."

Brock kept the sour look on his face.

"We are leaving this hotel and that is the end of it. Now go take a shower. You reek," Jack said as he threw a fresh outfit at Brock.

Resisting the urge to fight the matter, Brock did as Jack asked and was soon out with both pants and shirt on. He clambered over to the wheel chair and collapsed into it. After taking a short rest, he bent forward and started putting on shoes. As he did so, he asked, "So is this like a date or something?"

Jack hesitated, a small frown appearing on his lips. "Why? Do you mean it to be?"

"Do you?"

"No. Why?"

Brock looked up and the smile Jack saw both confused him as much as it pleased him. "Just curious honestly. I mean, if I dated anyone at this point it would be you. I trust you more than anyone I ever met now. Besides, I don't think adding sex could really complicate what we have any more than how it already is."

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course."

"Then it's a date."

"What are we doing then?"

"It's a surprise."

Letting out a snort, Brock muttered, "Of course it bloody well is."

As Jack turned around to finish packing a bag, he rolled the wheel chair up behind him. Grabbing onto Jack's shirt, he used it as leverage to pull himself up.

"What—"

"Will this make you tell me?"

Brock could feel Jack freeze from shock underneath his touch but eventually his lips moved as well, slowly and cautious. When Jack did finally pull back, he said, "I'm still not saying where we're going."

"Damn it! And I thought for sure that would work," Brock chuckled. However, his voice still shook enough for Jack to catch it.

"Hey," Jack began as he supported Brock more, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, just hard holding myself up is all," Brock replied.

Brock was sure that Jack didn't buy it but neither did he push the issue as he helped him back into the wheelchair. Brock hadn't quite meant what he said. Of course sex would complicate matters! That kiss had been on a whim and hell! It already complicated matters. Calling it a date complicated matters! Yeah, Brock wasn't a psychopath or anything, he had loved Hydra, his STRIKE team. He loved a cold beer on a warm day and, at a time, had loved his mother as well. But this was different. This was loving another person, that wasn't related to him and having someone never leave. Jack was someone who would always be by his side. He would never wake up with the other side of the bed cold.

But why not date Jack? He was attractive, had proven himself numerous times, and had already expressed his attraction to Brock. It still scared the hell out of him, the fact that if he did this, that kiss wouldn't be the last. He'd also be putting someone before him. He'd done that with Hydra and, in the end, been betrayed despite his efforts.

Was he willing to risk that again?

Remaining silent and deep in thought, Jack and him made their way to the lobby and then outside to the car. After Brock pulled himself into the car and Jack put the wheelchair up, Jack asked, "You hungry?"

"Starving actually," Brock admitted. He looked at the people and stores as they passed, noting how carefree they were. His eyes lingered a little longer on some of the couples when he could. He knew he could never be like that. It just wasn't him and it wasn't Jack but just maybe…

Suddenly a thought popped up and Brock asked, "So what are we going to do about money?"

Jack snorted. "Well, while you were working yourself to death, it appeared that we had bank accounts made up. I contacted AIM. The head guy, the doctor, said that it was simply an incentive. Also created new identities for us to make public transport easier." Reaching across to the glove compartment with eyes still on the road, Jack pulled out a passports and IDs. "We have several different countries there just in case."

Flipping through them, Brock asked, "How did they get our pictures?"

"Pulled them from security cameras in their department and then manipulated them to look like passport and photo IDs."

Brock shook his head at that, very impressed with the realism of it all. Looking back up, he asked, "So where are we headed for breakfast?"

"Tuck Shop, looked pretty neat and a good choice," Jack responded.

Brock gave a small nod and then continued to watch the streets. He tried to calm his nerves down just a bit and actually enjoy what was in front of him. He wanted to get better as quickly as possible but Jack had been right. He needed to get out of that hotel and actually see the world around him.

The place they arrived at was quaint and certainly not something he would normally go to. Nevertheless, Brock enjoyed himself and the food was good. With a sigh, he sipped his coffee and leaned back. "So, where to next?"

"Well I actually didn't have anything _specific_ planned—"

"So kissing you to try and get information out of you was pointless?"

"Now, I wouldn't say pointless…"

Brock laughed and the feeling was nice. It made him feel more alive again. "How about we just wander? No plans, nothing. Just go where we feel like it."

"Whatever you'd like."

Rolling his eyes at that, they finished up and got back into the car, heading towards downtown. Once he found a parking spot, they got out and just started going in the first direction they were facing. Brock made sure to keep all doubts and fears in his head but he couldn't help but analyze the situation.

They actually fit! He and Brock had their attention grabbed by similar things, and they laughed at stuff that only they would find funny. They argued like hell over all sorts of crap as they went and it worked! Sometimes Brock would even hit Jack when he got pissed, Jack usually hitting back, and it really didn't change anything in the end. It was actually quit frightening.

Brock wondered if he could've had this with anyone else or if it was just Jack that he stuck with so well. If he hadn't been so caught up with Hydra could he have made something like this sooner? But he threw those thoughts away. His head was already to crowded and he needed to concentrate on the future, not what could have been in the past.

Eventually, they made it to the park. It was past lunch time but that idea had passed right over their heads, both to caught up with the surrounding area.

People jogged, ran, and walked passed them. A few kids skipped, babies were rolled or carried, and dogs wagged their tales while barking at real and imaginary objects. Seeing a shop on the other side of the street at the edge of the park, Jack said, "I'll be right back."

"Right back? Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Just hold on, okay?"

Brock frowned but watched him go and noted the store was a book shop. As he waited, he rolled over to a park bench, not because he needed to but just to get out of the way of people. When Jack finally did come back, it was with a bag full of books. It was honestly amazing the bag didn't break or the books didn't just overflow.

"I'm guessing they're closing shop now seeing as you just bought everything in there."

"Funny," Jack responded, sitting on the bench. "I figured these might help keep you preoccupied. They're all in French but I'm guessing that won't be a problem for you?"

Brock smiled at that. However, he didn't start looking through the books, preferring to continue and talk. "What did you exactly pick out?"

"Well about half of those are probably American novels translated into French, the others the clerk suggested to me."

"Thank you."

"Did Brock Rumlow just say thank you?"

"Shut up you sarcastic little shit," replied Brock but he kept smiling, for once not getting easily pissed off.

"Sarcastic shit, maybe but little? I don't think so?"

"Shut up."

Brock looked away, suddenly self-conscious at how normal this was. Jack was being nice as well, which really wasn't different than usual, but it was just something Brock would probably never get use to. He was use to people taking an interest in his personal life, not like this.

He opened his mouth to say something, only to realize that he didn't know what to say. Neither did he need to interrupt the silence. Glancing over, Brock saw how content Jack was and decided not to upset that. Instead, he followed the other's line of sight, simply watching the people move past them.

When he turned back to Jack, he realized the man was already looking at him as well.

Brock watched as Jack opened his mouth, but then came to the sudden realization that Brock had not to long ago. He turned away and Brock would have mimicked him except Jack had turned back to look at him.

The movement forward, the hesitation, Brock quickly realized what Jack was thinking of doing. He could pull away, shake his head, do anything he wanted to stop the situation but he saw how Jack hesitated. This wasn't just some dump dream come true for the man. He was cautious with the entire situation and clearly didn't want to go to far if he wasn't welcomed. That made Brock decide to close the gap.

The kiss was a little less shocking than the one in the morning for both parties. Brock reacted to Jack's movement and vice versa but before it could become anything more, Brock pulled away and he was surprised when Jack let him. Of course, Brock was sure there was some disappointment there but Jack didn't express it. Instead he simply allowed a small smile to show which had Brock more flustered than he would have liked.

"Wanna head back?"

"Sure."

The silence that followed soon moved back into their consistent chatter that occasionally led into rash arguments. Any awkwardness between that and the kiss and been short and Brock wondered if that meant they could easily turn to just kisses being a casual thing, like a slap on the back or a handshake. Once again, it seemed almost to normal but Brock stopped questioning it and simply focused on the conversation between him and Jack.

They took a different path to the car, getting lost only once, and went out to eat before finally going back to the hotel.

Once there, they both got ready for bed. Jack was already in his which made Brock feel slightly bad for asking but he did anyways. "Would you…care to sleep beside me?"

"Not at all."

Brock waited until he could the other slide in beside him. He could feel Jack's chest against his back and after some hesitation, he felt Jack wrap his arms around him. The feeling was nice, comforting.

Brock fell asleep quickly but a nightmare appeared soon after the darkness took him. When he woke up screaming, Jack didn't let go until Brock was able to calm down. He didn't say it out loud but coming back to reality was so much easier with Jack beside him.

* * *

**AN: This was way later than I planned! Hopefully the fluffiness of it helped appease anyone.**


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